There was a strange quality of steel in this pretty creature. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. “My heart, my dove, I only want to heal you. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery.
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